Looking back, I would've described our marriage a lot like I described Jameson Hawthorne: reckless.
As the few people we'd invited gathered on the beach, their backs facing Xander and I, my hands began to shake. I couldn't believe this was happening only two mere weeks after we'd gotten engaged.
Beside me, his back pressed against a palm tree, Xander said, "Not getting cold feet, are you?"
"Definitely not."
"Good, because I didn't make that ring just to have you shove it back in Jamie's face." A smile tugged on his lips.
I returned the smile.
After seeking a wedding ring with no luck, Jameson and I had decided that store-bought rings weren't suited for me. Which was why, since Xander had offered, I was wearing a ring he'd crafted. The initials carved into the band, however, were courtesy of Jameson.
He'd insisted on having some part of it — he was the one marrying me, after all.
"I'm not giving it back," I promised Xander.
"Jamie's idiotic tendencies haven't rubbed off on you yet, then."
"Yet?"
Xander simply grinned, mischief in his eyes, and pivoted towards our beach setup. We'd been stalling, sheltered among the forestry framing the beach, while Libby and Max scrambled to scatter flower petals and adorn a wide wooden platform with woven palm leaves.
Ever since my mother had died — leaving me with all her postcards — I'd wanted to visit Hawaii.
I just hadn't expected it to be the location of my wedding.
But — of course — Jameson had dragged the information out of me.
And had me, along with everyone else close to us, on a plane mere days later.
As a matter of fact, I'd barely had time to find a dress.
Thankfully, at last minute, I had.
It was exactly the kind of dress I knew Jameson would love, and exactly the kind I'd always dreamed of wearing. After Max and Libby had approved, I'd known it was a done deal.
With the white lace cinching my waist, along with every single curve I had to offer, it would've been an insult to consider my dress anything less than gorgeous. The material collapsed into soft cascades around my ankles, while what little sleeves fell of my shoulders, leaving them as bare as my feet.
I hated heels, and it felt fitting to not wear shoes at all.
I knew Jameson would approve.
My mother too, had she been here.
It felt like a celebration of her love to get married in one of the locations from her postcards. And also, painfully, like a funeral.
Neither of my parents was here.
Which was why, since neither of my father figures could attend, Xander was walking me down the makeshift isle.
Deep breath, I reminded myself.
As he and I began our descent toward the beach — towards Jameson — my heart began racing.
I'd been anticipating this day for what felt like forever, as cliche as it sounded.
"I'd offer you a scone," Xander said, his voice playful, "although I'm afraid you'd throw it up, and I'm not willing to waste one on you. Plus, this hardly seems the time for a picnic."
I tried to laugh — but it came out dry as the sand beneath my feet.
"Don't tell me you're regretting your decision," Xander pleaded. "Because if you are, Max is going to kill me."
